"Well, after a little, dear; but, first, I must go over to the studio."
"Arrah, musha, but, master! The painting's all right. What for no? Indeed, then, it's the mistress herself needs more attention this minute nor any picture ever was drawed."
"Why, Cleena!" exclaimed the lady, in surprise. Such an interference had never been offered by the devoted creature to the head of the house.
"Asking pardon, I'm sure; though I know I know. I've lighted a fire in the sittin' room above, an' it's sure for the comfort of both that yous make yourselves easy the night."
"That's true, husband. Do leave the picture till morning. We're all tired and needing the rest."
Always easily persuaded where physical comfort was at stake, the artist acquiesced, and with his arm about his wife's slender waist he gently led her from the room.
Cleena heard him murmuring tender apologies that he had not before observed how utterly fatigued she looked; and a whimsical smile broke on the Irishwoman's face as she cleared the table and assured the cups and saucers, with a vigorous disdain, that:—
"Them two's no more nor a couple of childer still. But, alanna! Never a doubt I doubt there'll be trouble with old Cleena when the cat leaps the bag. Well, he's in it now, tied fast and tight."
Whereupon, there being nobody to see, the good woman executed a sort of jig, and having thus relieved her feelings departed to the kitchen, muttering:—